A/N: There are obvious reasons why is this rated M. Don't get fooled by the beginning. It gets better [worse].

And of course, comments and suggestions are always welcome!

Thanks to LovelyWeather for being my lovely BETA.

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA or characters that belong to it. I also don't own philosophers stone. Imagine that.

I – Combat stress reaction/Shell shock

At first, there was darkness.

She knew she was awake. At this point that was the only thing she knew. Her mind was as black as the back of her eyelids - eyelids she desperately didn't want to open. Even though her thoughts were buzzing like bees and were too chaotic to make sense, somehow she knew that it was only going to get worse if she opened her eyes. She just wanted to sleep, just to sleep without dreams, to stay in the warm bed and sleep, sleep, sleep…

There was a sudden noise.

It wasn't really loud, but in the dead silence and darkness of half-sleep, it made her shiver. It seemed to be coming from somewhere bellow her. Her heart ran so fast that she felt it like she was clutching in her palm.

And then, there came the voices.

She couldn't hear what they were saying. She couldn't even distinguish if they were male or female, but she became aware of the fact that she wasn't alone here - wherever that 'here' was. One thing she knew quite well – the voices weren't her friends. Not wanting them to find her unprepared in the bed, she decided to open her eyes.

White ceiling. That was all she could see.

Blinking fast a few times, trying to adapt to daylight, she moved her head to take a better look at her new surroundings. At first her moves were fast, as if she ha(d) no control over them. She tried to stop her head from turning, took a few deep breaths trying to normalize her heartbeat and then slowly gazed around.

She was in a room. A normal, medium-sized room, with nothing really special in it that would help her recall what had happened. But the fact that this wasn't her room, and wasn't Ethan's either made her worried. Where was she? What happened? And why couldn't she remember a thing?

It could easily have been any room in the world, since it was really simple, without any specific details. There were two chairs, a drawer, a table, a mirror, a window, the bed on which she was lying. The only thing that wasn't a part of the simple, plain wooden furniture was an armchair covered with red velvet and a bookshelf, not overloaded with books but still with a good amount of them. Maybe there was something in the books. Something that would give her a clue as to where she was.

Wanting to find answers to her questions, she quickly sat up in the bed, removing the blanket from her, put her feet on the wooden floor and –

She fell.

Her legs were, obviously, hurt. One was bloody and she wasn't sure how she didn't notice this when she woke up. Perhaps because of the shock caused by appearing at the place she had never seen before, it was only now that she noticed the bitter smell of blood and the scarlet colour of the greasy sheets. For the first time in her life she felt so weak, so hurt, that she couldn't even stand on her own two feet. Biting her lip hard in order not to scream, she held onto the bed and lifted herself back into it, using all the strength she had in the arms. Breathing hard, she sat on the bed, trying to avoid the parts covered in her own blood. Sitting down, she took a deep breath and stared at the foot that bled on the clean, wooden surface. There was nothing to do but watch the red liquid drip like water and slowly spread into a sticky puddle. She didn't know much about wounds, but this particular one didn't look "friendly". It looked too deep and she wondered how in the world was it still bleeding. The sight of it made her feel sick – not because she was scared and disgusted by blood itself, but because things were getting more serious. The strangest thing, though, was the shape of it – it looked like half circle and like some extremely large pair of teeth bit through her skin. But that wasn't possible. No one in the world had that large a jaw. No human could do that.

She was anxious and wanted desperately to do something about it, but she couldn't control her moves despite how lively her hands felt. She just couldn't concentrate on what to do with her leg, with her hands, with this situation… There must have been a way, but there was no way that her mind could think of anything right then. Her thoughts were still as dizzy as her hands, her heartbeat still rapid and even thought she knew she must relax, that seemed like a hardest thing in the world. Without any control she felt her eyes filling with tears. 'Fool, there's no time for that now,' the reasonable part of her brain screamed, yet her body thought differently. It all seemed fatal now – she was trapped, her leg hurt, the smell of blood was awful, she wanted to sleep, she wanted to jump up and do something, she wanted to cry…

And it was only then that she noticed the voices had stopped their discussion and were now replaced by another frightening sound – the sound of steps coming up the stairs. Judging by it, they were man's steps – hard and determined, though slow. The man was obviously not in a hurry to see what the dull sound he heard before was, when she fell to the floor. She appreciated this.

Tears were now replaced by a complete tension in her body. She could hear her heart drumming in her ears - every – single - beat.

Finally the steps became so loud and close that there was no doubt that the person was right in front of the door. For a moment it was silent, as if he was thinking about going in, but even if he had doubts they lasted only for a second. The handle moved and her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, good mornin'," a polite voice said. Scared about what she might see, she slowly raised her head, analyzing everything about the newcomer's appearance, from polished shoes to the top of the hat. She made only one conclusion – he didn't look like someone you would imagine to be a kidnapper, except, perhaps, his smile. He was wearing a suit: a very fancy white suit which made him look sophisticated and classy - someone who had something to do with the authorities perhaps? A nicely combed black hair tied under his white hat, which threw a shadow over his eyes, completed the image of a posh businessman. None of this gave her a bit of comfort - there was something is that smirk that told her that this man was dangerous.

His eyes, still in the shadow of the hat, were obviously observing her bleeding ankle. Yet he made no gesture to show that it was the blood he was watching – it could have easily been her face, judging by his smile. Finally he decided to raise his head, in the same way as she did a moment ago, analyzing every inch of her body. She shivered uncomfortably as his eyes studied the line of her legs, thighs that disappeared under the skirt, her tiny waist, small breasts and collarbone. Usually, she wouldn't feel anything when a man's lustful eyes would search over her body, but this was different. His eyes didn't search for the sexual pleasure. It was like he stripped her with his look, enjoying in her helpless state. He raised an eyebrow and his eyes finally landed on her face with an even creepier smile than before. Not even noticing what she was doing, she moved backwards, as if the wall behind could save her.

She saw it now – it wasn't only in his smile, but in his eyes as well. They were the same colour someone might have used for painting winter, and as piercing, steady and incredibly cold as ice itself.

"How are you?" he asked politely. She found it strange that someone dared to kidnap her, trap her, notice her bleeding leg and still ask so calmly how she was, as if he expected her to answer with a 'Oh, I'm just dandy, and how are you?'

Of course, she had no intention to answer him at all.

Daring herself to stare back into his eyes, she felt anger, shock and fear as her hands started to tremble. It was like her body was reacting of its own accord, detached from her puzzled thoughts. She squeezed the sheets and it was only then that she noticed how wet her hands were. Her back started to hurt badly - she was sitting as straight as a marble column. But, stubborn as she was, she didn't want to abate (her glare) and so her brown eyes were kept focused on his grey ones.

Judging by his smile he noticed this and seemed amused by it. He even let himself give a little chuckle to her worthless efforts to stay calm while her body was shaking.

The chuckle was the final trigger. Her fear and anger turned into fury and all she wanted was to break free, hit him and run away. With this plan in her mind she quickly grabbed at her left wrist.

She found nothing there.

"Are you looking for your bracelet?" he asked her as she checked her pockets. "You're not going to find it there. We took it, naturally."

We. So it wasn't only him. He was not alone in this. Trying to gather up what was left of her memories, she concluded that it certainly wasn't this man she had fought the previous night. She would have remembered it if it had been him. He wasn't a kind of a person that you could see twice and not make a connection.

The knife. She always carried her knife in her bag. She looked around, trying to see where it was. She gasped. It took her a lot of effort to part her dry lips that glued together by mixture of spit, blood and dirt. When she finally spoke, her voiced sounded like it came from the depths of a cave, "My bag…"

"…is being checked right now," the man chuckled again. "Tsch, for a young lady to be carrying such items around..." he clicked with his tongue in fake disapproval.

Her mind worked quickly as she tried to remember what was in the bag – a knife, some money, a bottle with water and her little black book. Damn it. That was a stupid thing to do – to carelessly carry that book with her! She knew she shouldn't have listened to Eather.

As if he knew what she was thinking about, the man spoke, "I am sure you understand it will be some time before we return it to you."

There was no discussion about it. Now it was pretty clear what was happening here - they were planning on keeping her prisoner and this room would be the only thing she would see from now on. If not the last.

She didn't want to beg this man for mercy. She might have lost the battle – whatever the battle was – but she still had her pride. As a matter of fact, she didn't even want to talk to him. Turning her head, she stared at the wall. It was so wonderfully blank, unlike her thoughts.

"You're a stubborn child, aren't you?" he noticed, "Well, I better get you some food and bandages. It would be a waste to let you bleed to death now."

She didn't want to look at him as he left the room. She bit her lip hard and it wasn't long before she tasted blood on her tongue. That didn't stop her from just sitting there, biting and sucking repeatedly, trying to finally calm down. It was all still worthless. There was a killer-party going on in her head, while her expression stayed calm and blank. Like she lost all the motivation to move, to escape, to feel. And from all things she felt in her head and body, the only she could name were anger, carelessness and a grief that she ever left home.

But when the man came back holding a plate with soup, piece of bread and a glass of water, she felt a new urge – to vomit. The idea to shove anything down her throat seemed impossible. Although her stomach was rumbling, she knew that anything that touched her mouth would go out right back through it. To her, there was nothing grosser in the world that that mere piece of bread.

Not losing eye contact the man placed the food on the night-table beside bed. "Eat while it's hot. Soup is never good when it cools down," he advised her, taking out bandages and few bottles from his pocket. "You know how to do this by yourself, don't you?"

Truth be told, she didn't. There were a few first aid tips she learned in school, but that was years ago. All those basic things she read about anatomy in alchemy never explained types of wound and she never learned how to make the bandage actually stay on the skin. But she had no intentions of letting him touch her. She took the things he brought her, without saying a word. That, unfortunately, didn't make him leave. He leaned on the drawer, watching her, like the sight of her suffering and her bleeding flesh was some rather interesting show he enjoyed.

Her hands were still trembling while she opened the first bottle and put a bit of liquid on the bandage. The moment it touched her skin she screamed out in the pain so loud that the sound of her own voice surprised her. It burned like someone had pressed flaming torch to her skin.

"Ah, I guess you'll need my help," man sympathetically concluded and took the other string of bandage. "You should never put this on an open wound. I just wanted to see if you knew what you were doing," he explained with satisfied smile. He sat down on the bed very carefully in order not to besmear his perfectly clean suit – that meant that he sat pretty close to her, so close that an uncomfortable shudder flew through her body, causing every hair on her arm to bristle. He obviously didn't feel the awkwardness in this situation as he took her naked leg into his lap without hesitation.

The moment he did so she felt the warm blood climbing up her neck all to her cheeks. She didn't blush often, but everything in this situation seemed wrong and strange to her, from his cold fingertips on her trembling ankle to the feeling of smooth fabric of his jeans on her bare heel.

His eyes didn't miss this. Instead of proceeding with the work, for a moment he just sat there, his hand on her leg, taking enjoyment in her awkward reaction. He smiled widely and pressed a finger against the wound. Scream burst out of her throat once more, colder and sharper than any sound she had ever made. Her throat hurt from it.

"Oh, my bad!" he faked concern, "I'll be more gentle, Miss." She didn't let herself believe his promises and she tried to move the rest of her body as far as she could – she wanted to move her leg from his palms so desperately, but it was impossible. Although he was not too muscular, he was obviously strong – his one hand was enough to make her whole leg paralyzed against his. With his other hand he moved his cold fingers slowly down her knee, making it convulse. Grinning at this movement, he finally became interested in his previous work.

This was certainly natural to him – he was looking at the circular injure for a few moments, obviously examining it and trying to figure out how deep it was. "It is rather odd that you're not familiar with these types of things," he continued their one-sided talk. "Judging by the book you carried with you," he smiled again, "you should have at least some basic knowledge about humans." He took off his gloves and she understood exactly what he meant, as well as why was he himself was so skilled - transfiguration circles were on both of his palms. A "fellow" alchemist.

She cleared her throat – now that she finally wanted to answer him she noticed for the first time how much dirt she ate last night. Not only was her throat sore and dry, but she had a terrible feeling as if there were gashes on the inside. She had to take a long sip of water before any sound came out of her chapped lips. "I don't have much interest in human anatomy. I am more interested in – in the other things." Her voice was rougher than usual.

He raised his head for a moment as she spoke, obviously pleasantly surprised that he didn't have to keep monologues anymore. "In killing humans?"

So, they knew. "No," she shortly answered, "I never did."

"Then why would someone like you," he chose words carefully, "carry a book like that?" He cleaned her wound slowly and professionally. It itched a bit, but it was nothing she couldn't bear. He certainly was trying not to hurt her.

"Research," she simply explained, as if the thing they were talking about was an assignment of cutting frogs for a biology class.

He jerked, obviously thinking similar, "Nice hobby it is. Planning a massacre?"

"I wasn't!" she raised her voice in annoyance now. "It was just for a research! I did not intend to find what I did."

His hands were now quickly putting bandages around her wound – she felt he was pulling them a bit tighter than they should've been. All the while he was silent. After he finally tied them, he raised his head to look at her again. "Some people had to do years and years of research and you're telling me you accidentally found the philosophers stone? You're really a terrible liar. That won't work around here." Suddenly he grabbed her leg and clenched it. She gasped in pain, biting her tongue hard, perverting herself to give him the pleasure of hearing her scream again. "Is that understood?" he smoothly asked.

Not able to come to breath, she nodded and unclenched her teeth around her tongue. It was sore and she felt as if she nearly bit off half of it. "Good girl." He relaxed his grip a bit, yet didn't release his hold on her leg. "Now, eat the soup and lie down to relax. We have a lot to talk about later."

She sighed in annoyance as he got up, gently returning her leg to the floor, right beside the pond of fresh blood. "I suggest you get over it soon, we'll be talking quite a lot these days. Who knows: maybe we even become friends."

And then, before she could even protest against this senseless statement, he stood up and walked to the door. As he opened them, a dash of fresh air flew into the room. She was suddenly cold, terribly cold from all the sticky, salty sweat that soaked her skin.

He closed the door behind him, leaving her as unsettled as before. Getting over the urge to run down after him – more prevented by her injures than by her mind - she stayed sitting on the bed, fixing her eyes on her reflection in the tiny red lake. She was honestly enchanted by how scarlet and crimson it was. It had such a nice colour.